The Amish Christmas Sleigh (8 page)

C
HAPTER
2

J
ess pulled the door shut behind him and was quite satisfied with himself when he didn't slam it closed with all his strength. Just who did she think she was, coming here and criticizing him and his efforts? He was doing the best he could. But he was both mother and father to his three girls. He had to run the dairy farm, see to the milk truck, get the girls dressed and ready for school, figure out what they were eating for lunch and dinner, and wash the clothes. And that was all before noon.

She had no right, he fumed. No right a'tall to come into his house and start pointing fingers over whose dress was stained and who had forgotten to wipe their mouth before they left the table. Well, he guessed she hadn't come into the house. Only onto the porch.

He looked around at the clothes that hung on the line stretched between the front door and the back porch. He hated having to duck under it to get anywhere in the house, but it was too cold to go hanging the garments outside. They would freeze solid before they would dry.

“
Dat?
” Hope stood in the entryway to the kitchen, a small frown on her smooth forehead. She was the image of her mother, light brown hair and pale gray eyes like the sky before the snow started. “What did Bernice want?”

He cleared his throat, unwilling to tell his middle daughter the truth. “She, uh, wanted to remind me about the Christmas program.”
Lord, forgive me my lies.
But he would do everything in his control to keep them from knowing the truth.

Constance picked that moment to peek around her sister. Other than her blond hair, his oldest looked like her mother, as well. Two walking reminders of the past. “Really? You can come, right?”

Lilly Ruth bounced on her toes, excitement lighting her blue eyes. Of all of his girls she was the most like him in appearance. Red hair, freckles, blue eyes. “Please, please, please!”

“Of course.” Jess let out a small cough. He would have to be at the program. Somehow, some way. He was struggling without his mother or his sister there to help. Yet tomorrow things would be different. He'd see to it. And the day after that and the day after that. He would get it all together. Surely that would put a stop to the pitying light he'd seen in the young teacher's green eyes.

 

“Constance!” Jess stood at the door to the house and hollered for his girls. “Hope! Lilly Ruth!” The milking had been done, breakfast had been eaten, and it was time for the girls to head to school.

After he'd gone to bed last night, he'd replayed the conversation between him and the teacher. He'd mulled over every word. Not that he actually said that many. He'd been too shocked. But he had realized one thing. He had to do something different. And he was starting today.

“Con—stance.” His voice started out loud, then dropped to a normal tone as his daughters started down the stairs. He wasn't sure what they had been doing upstairs when they were supposed to be finishing up chores so they could go to school.

He needed to have them inside working on the dishes. The way they were piling up, it was going to take a week to get them all clean and put away.
Jah,
they had been using disposable plates and cups for nigh on a week, yet somehow the dishes seemed to pile up on their own. A cup here and there, a plastic container, a saucer, miscellaneous items that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

He said a small prayer of thanks that Bernice Yoder had stayed on the porch. The thought of her coming into the house and passing more judgments against him . . .

“Here.” He stopped his girls one by one and gave their faces another swipe with a wet rag. He had done his best with their hair, but it still looked as if they had been caught in a strong wind. He used the rag to smooth down some of the worst of the flyaways, handed them their lunch coolers, then sent them on their way. He'd picked out the best of their dresses, ones without stains and tears. Thankfully, the snow had held off to a light dusting. Still they wore their warmest boots, coats, and knit scarves, ready for a blizzard if one decided to arrive that afternoon.

Let Bernice Yoder find fault with that, he thought as he watched his children traipse toward the road.

He gave the dishes one last look, then headed for the barn. The house needed his attention, but the north fence needed it more. Maybe this afternoon he'd have enough time to get started on the house, but until then . . . he grabbed the new fence post he'd gotten in town the day before and started across his pasture.

 

“Good morning.” Bernice smiled to each of her students as they ambled into the one-room schoolhouse where she taught. Despite the fact the snow barely covered the ground, some of the more rambunctious
buwe
still scraped up enough to make snowballs to pelt each other as they raced toward the entrance.

“Johnny Lapp, get down from there,” she called as the boy started to climb onto the outhouse to gather more snow. Heaven help them all when a big snow hit. She had a hard enough time keeping the boys busy when the weather was fine. But they would all get snow fever for sure when they got more than a dusting. And she had heard the talk at the mercantile. The elders had said this could be the snowiest winter on record.

Well, she would hoe that row when she came to it. For now, she waved the children inside and looked to see if she had forgotten any.

The playground was clear, but in the distance she could see three small figures heading for the school. They were a little late this morning, but of all her students, the Schmucker girls had to walk the farthest to attend. Sometimes Bernice wondered if it might not be closer for them to go to a different school, but since she had failed in her talk with their father, she thought it best that she have them remain in her school. At least that way she could keep an eye on them.

She was new to the area and hadn't met a good many people since she had been there. And she certainly hadn't heard what had happened to Jess Schmucker's wife. That was something she needed to find out. Perhaps the frowning Jess was still grieving for a love who had passed. Or maybe she had left him alone and bitter to care for their children while she enjoyed the pleasures the
Englisch
world had to offer.

Or perhaps she, Bernice Yoder, needed to quit reading those
Englisch
novels about Plain people.

But her buoyant mood fizzled as the Schmucker girls drew closer. Then it completely died as they came near enough for her to see every detail of their appearance. All three girls had mud caked to their boots, surely a result of yesterday's snow. But not the dark streaks on their hems and coats. Lilly Ruth's head scarf was even soiled with what could only be mud. Their faces were marked with smudges of peanut butter and jam, and their hair. Goodness! Their hair looked as if they had slept in the hayloft. And despite the fact that she didn't want to admit it even to herself, they smelled like they slept there, as well.

She cleared her throat and pushed her irritation with their father down deep inside and focused on what she could do now. Later she could examine why he had seen fit to send them to school in worse condition than ever before. And after she had gone to his house to help him.

That wasn't exactly true. He'd slammed the door in her face before she could voice her offer of help, then she chickened out and scuttled on home. But her fears and reluctance weren't nearly as important as the three precious children who stood in front of her, with their big, innocent eyes and dirt-smudged, freckled cheeks.

“Girls, come in please and right over here.” She led them as discreetly as possible to the hooks where everyone hung their coats and hats. On a top shelf, she kept a tub of wipes for when the children got dirty at recess. She helped Lilly Ruth get her coat off while the other two shed theirs and hung them on the hooks under their names. She would worry about the streaks of mud on the black wool once she got everyone seated and working on their lessons.

She hung up Lilly Ruth's little coat and turned toward the class. “Everyone, find your seat. I'll be there in just a minute. Until then, fifth graders, start reading. Remember we're on chapter ten of
Little House on the Prairie
. Eighth grade, help the first graders with their letters, and everyone else, get out your readers and pick up where you left off yesterday.”

She didn't stop to see if they did as she said. The rustle behind her was testament enough. “Now,” she murmured under her breath. She focused her attention on the three little girls.

“Is it bad?” Constance asked, eyes wide.

How could she tell the girl the truth?
Lord, forgive me this lie.
“Of course not.”

“Oh,” came Constance's reply.

Bernice took a couple of Wet Wipes from the tub. She hesitated, then snatched another one out just in case. “What happened?” she asked Lilly Ruth, who seemed to be the dirtiest of them all. Even her tiny fingers were coated in dried mud. “Did you fall on the way to school?”

“
Jah
.” She nodded her bright head, then she stopped and looked to her sisters. “I mean, I fell last night.”

Bernice had hoped that her talk with Jess would bring about a few changes, but that optimism had been easily squashed. These
wunderbaar
children had been left to get dirty and not even cleaned up in time for bed. No wonder their clothes were on the ripe side and their hair tangled with rats' nests.

But mixed somewhere in between the smell of earth and barn was a hint of detergent. Perhaps there was more to the situation than she knew. Their clothes had been cleaned sometime or the scent wouldn't be there, but when and why did they look the way they did now were questions that remained. Not that she would ever get those answers. She couldn't keep going out to his house and badgering him until he got things right.

She had taken one look into those blue eyes of his, and her heart had skipped a beat. Unfortunately it had nothing to do with the scowl he wore. Not that it wasn't impressive, and she wondered if he scowled at everyone like that. Or was that look saved for teachers who cared a little too much? She would never know because she was not going out to the Schmucker farm again.

No, but there were other things she could do. She could wash the girls as much as possible when they got to school. She had two eighth-grade girls in the class. They could help as she redid their hair and wiped the smudges from their sweet faces.

And pray. She could pray for the girls and their father. Pray that the Lord provide them with everything they needed. God wouldn't forsake them. Of that much she was certain.

 

But as a new week began, the girls continued to arrive at school dirty, frowsy-headed, and increasingly smelly. What was a teacher to do but bring some lemon-scented body spray she'd picked up at the grocery store? Discreetly she sprayed the girls' coats when they were hanging by the door. She continued to wipe their faces and hands, spot-clean their dresses, and get angrier and angrier at Jess Schmucker.

She supposed some men were just like that, but he didn't seem to be unkempt when she'd been out there. He wasn't
clean,
but he worked on a dairy farm. Still, he wasn't overly dirty, either.

“You're not mad at our
dat,
are you?” Hope asked as Bernice wiped her hands clean. At the sound of her voice, Bernice realized that she might be wiping with a bit more force than necessary. But if she had thought the girls looked bad last week, this week they were downright scruffy. Dirt on their clothes, faces, and hands, dried food in all the same places. And yesterday come lunch, the girls only had one sandwich to split between the three of them. Luckily Bernice had made an extra sandwich in hopes that her cousin might stop by, but she didn't. No wonder since she was getting married in a couple of weeks, and Joy's absence allowed her to feed the poor Schmucker girls.

“Of course not. Why would I have reason to be mad at your father?”

Hope shrugged. “Because he doesn't wash our faces in the morning.”

“Or our clothes,” Lilly Ruth piped in.

Constance shushed them both. “It's okay, though.” She sounded much older than her eight years, and Bernice had to bite her lip to fight the tears that sprang into her eyes. These poor, sweet girls deserved so much more than just her prayers, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that mere prayers were not all that was needed.

Action. She needed to take action. And quick.

“Don't be mad at our
dat,
” Hope said, with a precious smile. “He's done the best he could since
Mamm
died.”

Bernice pressed her lips together to keep her sigh of sympathy at bay. It wasn't the Amish way to grieve overlong. Life had to be lived, but how did a father tell his young children their mother would never tuck them in at night ever again? “I'm sure he has.” She continued to clean the stains from their dresses, but this time with a gentler hand. Hope had a sticky spot that looked a bit like jelly, while Lilly Ruth had a stain that appeared to be ketchup. What kind of breakfast was he feeding them if they had jelly and ketchup?

They ate breakfast. That was the important part. And hopefully today they would have enough lunch to divide between them, but just in case, Bernice had packed an extra two ham sandwiches in her cooler. The Lord favored the prepared.

With one last swipe at their hair, Bernice sent the girls to their seats and her teaching day began.

C
HAPTER
3

B
ernice trailed her fingers over the bolts of fabric and tried to remember exactly what color she had chosen for the girls to wear in the Christmas program. It had been weeks since she had sent the bolt of fabric home with the first family, but the truth of the matter was that Jess Schmucker and his darling girls were a distraction like none other.

There was just a little over a week before the program. The mothers throughout the district were sewing matching dresses and shirts—one color for the girls and a different one for the boys—that the children would wear. But Constance, Hope, and Lilly Ruth didn't have a mother, just a father.

And just like that, the glowering, handsome face was once again at the front of her thoughts.

“I would have thought he'd remarry by now.”

“I know. For the girls if nothing else.” The woman
tsked
.

Bernice's ears perked. She hadn't meant to listen in on their conversation, but they were right behind her examining the large table of fabric while she studied the ones stacked on the wall. There was no way she wouldn't have been able to hear them unless she was stone-deaf. Yet just because they were discussing a man who needed to remarry for the sake of his girls didn't mean they were talking about Jess Schmucker.

“
Jah
. Those girls need a
mamm
.”

“Esther King said that his mother and sister had been over helping, but I hear these days that they have too much of their own to do. Frankly, I think they're trying to force him to see the truth.”

“And what truth would that be, Abigail?”

“That a man shouldn't be in this world without a wife. The Bible even says so.”

“I know what the Bible says.” The other woman sighed. “So you think Jess will get married again.”

So they were talking about him!

“I'm sure of it.”

The women moved away before Bernice could find out how Jess's wife had died, but it was probably for the best. She shouldn't be listening in to other people's conversations, and she surely didn't need to be so interested in all things Jess Schmucker.

Bernice chose a dark purple that she was fairly certain had been the color for the dresses, then headed for the counter.

A tiny voice inside whispered that she might ought to ask Jess if he had someone to sew the special dresses for his girls, but she didn't want to risk it. She would make the dresses herself and keep them at the school until the day of the program. Jess Schmucker might not care how the district saw his children, but Bernice Yoder did.

 

He was dead tired, but Jess had no choice. He had a Christmas program to attend. It wasn't that he didn't want to go, but he was just worn out. The good news was he had managed to get all of the dishes washed. Now they had to be put away, though he had no idea where they all went. In the cabinets somewhere, of course. He had relied on his mother and his sister for too long, and he had no clue as to where Linda Grace had kept the dishes before she died.

As usual his wife crossed his thoughts at least once a day. He missed her like crazy, but time was a healer and now he could think about her without the stabbing pains of heartbreak.

He was moving on, living like those who are left behind are forced to do. But he couldn't say he was good at it. Right now he felt like a swimmer lost at sea. It was taking all of his energy just to stay afloat, and that was not living.

But he had a farm to see to and girls to raise.

“I'll do right by you,” he whispered to his wife, hoping that she could hear him. “Just every now and then, give me some direction, okay?” He could use some bearing and a little more energy.

He pulled the buggy to a stop, and the girls scuttled down like the devil was on their heels. He knew they were excited to perform the program for all the fathers. But why did it have to be so late?

In past years the program was held in the middle of the day, when everyone could get away from their farm and chores. Since more and more Amish men and women were working outside their homes, and for English companies, the school had started doing the pageant twice—once during the afternoon for the
mamms
and visiting scholars from other schools, then again at night for the
dats
and the rest of the family.

Buggies were lined up next to the fence, their horses tied to the chain-link barrier that separated the school from the field next to it. Jess parked as far out as he could. He wanted to be near the road when everyone started to leave. He needed to get home and get to bed. Three o'clock came mighty early.

He hustled the girls into the building and wiped the grit from his eyes. An eighth-grade girl met them at the curtain and motioned them to come back and ready themselves for the program. Jess watched them go with a strange mixture of pride and exhaustion.

Jah,
pride was a sin, but he had settled himself to times when resisting wasn't possible. And despite his tired soul, this was one of those times.

His girls disappeared behind the blanket hung at one end of the room, and he moved away to find a seat on one of the benches set up in the classroom. Husbands and wives sat together, along with their children who weren't in the program. Aunts and uncles, even cousins waited patiently for the program to begin.

Suddenly, Jess felt alone. More alone than he did when he arrived at church without his wife at his side, even more than he felt in his bed at night. Because his solo state was there for everyone to see. He could feel their pitying eyes on him, but he pretended to read his program handout and otherwise act like he had everything going his way.

Thankfully he only had a few minutes to wait before Bernice Yoder came around the side of the makeshift curtain and rang a bell to get the crowd's attention.

“Good evening, everyone.” She smiled prettily at the room at large. Even though she never turned her gaze to him, Jess's heart skipped a beat as if she had pinned him with those gorgeous green eyes.

He shook those thoughts away. Beautiful or not, Bernice was a meddling busybody who had placed judgments on him and his family.

He stifled a small cough, realizing that while he'd been in his own thoughts, Busybody Bernice had finished her introductions and moved back behind the blanket.

As far as Christmas programs went, this one was not much different from any others. The children performed skits, recited poems, told Christmas jokes, and at the end, they all came out together and sang the English Christmas song “Jingle Bells.” He laughed as the children shook bells and otherwise finished with big smiles. But it was in that moment that Jess realized the girls all wore the same color of purple. Even his girls.

Had they come home from school wearing the dresses? He couldn't remember. Did they have them on when they clambered into their buggy? Or maybe they changed when they arrived at the school. Why had he not noticed that before?

Because he had been so caught up in his own issues and problems that he hadn't thought of all the events leading up to the Christmas program. But he remembered in years past, Linda Grace sewing the dresses for Constance and then for Hope, as well. Dresses she made out of the material the teacher bought each year. But there hadn't been any material this year. So, who had made the dresses his daughters now wore? Surely his mother and sister would have said as much, so that left only one person—well, two if he counted Bess Lapp who sometimes took in extra sewing to help make ends meet—and that person was Bernice Yoder.

Jess pulled on his suspenders and tried to calm his temper. He was normally a levelheaded man, but something about the dark-haired teacher brought out the worst in him. Maybe he should leave a conversation with her until a better time. When he wasn't so tired. So cranky and angry.

He pushed up from the bench and nodded a farewell to those nearest him, then went to find his daughters. Instead he found Bernice Yoder. She should have been talking to the other parents, voicing her thanks and smiling at the compliments she received for her work. Yet, she looked like she was simply waiting for him.

“Jess Schmucker.” She gave him a nod of greeting and another of those smiles. But this one trembled at the corners, and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming next. “Can I talk to you for a bit? Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

He hardened his heart against the sweet tone of her voice. “I'm busy tomorrow afternoon.” His words were gruff and coarse, but he had to stop this before it began. She had no right butting into his business, and he had better things to do than help her feed her own personal gossip mill.

“It's important,” she pressed.

He braced his hands at his sides and fought the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. Her skin was fair and pale without a mark from the sun. Such an unusual case for an Amish woman. That had to be why he had the strangest urge to run the backs of his fingers down the side of her face. It was that reason and that reason only.

“
Nay
.” He shook his head to back up his words. Maybe then she would know he meant what he said and she would give up whatever mission she had set herself to.

If only he were so lucky.

She pressed her lips together, her green eyes flashing. “It's about the girls, Jess.”

Of course it was. “Although I appreciate your concern, my girls and I are fine, just fine.”

“I don't know how you can say that.”

“I can say it because it's the truth.”

Then they started talking over one another. “You have no right to tell me how to raise my children.”

“Their cleanliness and care should be of the highest importance in the household, and I don't think that's happening.”

“You don't think?” Jess raised his voice, then realized that all of the lingering guests were staring at them as intently as if they were the second round of the evening's entertainment. “Send my girls on out to the buggy when they are ready to leave.” He spun on his heel and headed for the door. Stopping just short of completely storming out, he turned around. “
Danki
for making their dresses,” he said without meeting her gaze, then he pushed his way into the cold night air.

 

Jess Schmucker was without a doubt the most stubborn and prideful man she had ever met.

 

 

The verse from Proverbs popped into her head like it always did when Jess was near. And that was exactly what he was setting himself up for: a fall. Didn't he understand that she only wanted to help? His children needed him, and he was too blinded by his pride to see that he needed help.

She harrumphed as she watched him stride from the schoolhouse. She wasn't giving up. For the girls' sake something had to be done. Quickly. And whether he liked it or not.